


Obedience

by vesuviannights



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Creampie, Dirty Talk, F/F, F/M, Finger Sucking, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Other, Poly, Threesome, Verbal Humilation, blindfolding, dom/sub dynamics, voyuerism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesuviannights/pseuds/vesuviannights
Summary: You’ve been shamelessly begging for Valerius’ to take you all day, and he is ready to reward your efforts - but it comes with a price.This is a series where the reader is found in a…compromising position by most of the LIs, and consequently teased by all. The true test of your obedience is if you sit through every visit like an obedient little pet and refuse every offer made by your visitors to help you out of your predicament.
Relationships: Asra/Apprentice/Portia, Asra/Reader/Poria, Consul Valerius/Apprentice, Consul Valerius/Reader, Count Lucio/Apprentice, Count Lucio/Reader, Julian Devorak/Reader, Julian devorak/apprentice, Julian/Apprentice, Julian/Reader, Lucio/Apprentice, Lúcio/Reader, Nadia Sarinava/Reader, Nadia Satrinava/Apprentice, Nadia/Apprentice, Nadia/Reader, Valerius/Apprentice, Valerius/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 204





	1. Valerius/Gender Neutral Reader

**Author's Note:**

> This was a series I wrote as part of No Reader Nut November on my Tumblr [@vesuviannights](vesuviannights.tumblr.com), where I exclusively wrote fics where the reader...well, didn't nut.

Valerius had been promising you his hot, thick cock all day.

Or, you had been _begging_ for it all day, like the desperate, shameless fucking whore you were, and he had yet to say no.

Every chance that arose you had your body pressed against his.

Your ass stuck out and tempting him to come closer.

Your legs parted so you could grind yourself against his thigh, suckling on everything in sight just for the chance to show him what your pretty lips could do.

And he had been watching you with a cruel amusement in his gaze, a hunger that said he was ready to pounce but wouldn’t be telling you when.

And so you worked yourself up, a horny, desperate fucking mess from sunrise through the day, until afternoon arrived and you swirled your tongue around your teaspoon in the garden and made eye contact with him.

There, amongst as much company as you have been in all day, he finally lets out the quietest of sighs and the tiniest of nods, one only you can see – not Asra, not Nadia, not the other courtiers.

_You._

Quickly, you clear your throat to excuse yourself and move to the bathroom.

You already know exactly where you want him, and as soon as you are behind closed yours your fingers are working to stretch out your already aching hole as you wait for him to join you.

It isn’t long before you hear his quite footfalls and he appears in the door, nodding for you to lay back on the white chaise in the far corner.

You scramble to follow his instruction, every limb shaking as you lay back with your legs spread and everything bared, clothes discarded on the floor.

He works his already semi-hard cock with long and slow movements as he steps up to you, sighing softly at the feel of his own hand, at the sight of your trembling body and dilated pupils. No part of you is still under that gaze, and every part is ready for him, for his thick length to stretch you and make you cry out for the entire palace to hear.

You can feel him on your tongue already, warm and soft and a little soapy, the perfect size to fill your mouth and throat, a comforting weight against your tongue.

Or, if he were to fuck your already stretched and aching hole, how the weight of his sack would slap against you as he fucked you, how he would angle his hips to ensure the head of his cock and the piercing there dragged along every inch of your insides and make tears streak down your cheeks from the bliss of it all.

Your nails are digging into your skin from your efforts to not touch yourself, and it seems like an eternity before he finally steps close enough for you to touch, if you were so allowed.

“Are you ready to take me, pet?” He murmurs.

You nod, desperate and eager, and you forget yourself for a moment when you do reach out for him.

He does not forget, though. His gaze immediately snaps to yours, pupils lethal little pinpricks. With a shiver, you retreat and resume your position, legs parted for him to settle between.

He positions the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing it against but not in, just another moment of torture.

You’ve stopped breathing, and every few seconds you’re swallowing back another whine, another whimper. You’ve been ready for this all day, ready for his cock, ready to be fucked so hard you forget your own name.

“Stay still, pet,” he commands you quietly. “Like the obedient little cumslut I’ve trained you to be.”

And then you feel a familiar warmth inside of your aching hole, coating your walls, making them flutter.

His seed is spurting into you, but nothing that you love has come with it—not the stretch or warmth of his cock, not the flush of his hips against yours, not the pull of your hair as he makes you forget your name. 

You wait, _wait_ , for more, for something else, but it never comes. Ever the picture of propriety, his gaze is locked with yours and almost lethal with its stillness, as though daring you to complain.

Within moments he is done, letting the last of his warm seed spurt into you before he pulls away and walks to the basin to wash himself off.

You swallow another whine, but you don’t move, waiting for him to come back.

Surely there is more? Surely he’s going to give you something else?

Why would he use you for nothing more than a cumdump when there was so much more of you to use, so many warm holes for him to sheath his cock inside of, ways he could make you scream and cry out and remember that you belonged to him, and only him?

You’re stupid enough to think he will give you answers.

But within moments he is drying his hands on the towel and tucking himself back in. Adjusting his clothing. Fixing his braid, which isn’t a hair out of place anyway.

You begin to sit up, but his eyes snap around to you, and your entire body tenses.

“Stay,” he tells you. Like a dog. One hand is already on the door handle. “I’ll come fetch you when tea is done. If someone comes in here to find you, then so be it. Let them see what a desperate, impatient little slut you’ve been all day.”

And then he is gone.


	2. Lucio/Gender Neutral Reader

You weren’t there for long before the door handle jerked and a familiar face stepped into the room, startled by the sight of you—on your back, knees spread, Valerius’ come dribbling out of your hole as you tried desperately to keep as much of it in as possible.

With your lip between your teeth, you let out a desperate little whine. It’s so hard not to squirm, not to shy away from his gaze, not to cover yourself and your obvious arousal.

Your throat tight, you can only sit there and wait for him to react. If you don’t, Valerius will know. He always does.

“Ah, so this is what my consul was speaking of when he said he had left a gift for me.”

You freeze at Lucio’s words, watching as he kicks the door shut behind himself and saunters over to where you are spread. 

In all of his words and movements, he hasn’t looked you in the eye.

He reaches down, and you almost jerk away from his touch, but you’re so sensitive, so desperate for anything, that you let him swipe a finger through the mess of you. 

Lucio plays with it between his fingers for a moment, contemplates it. Your eyes slip down to his hips, to where you can see the outline of his cock stretching down the left side of his trousers, straining against the tight fabric.

“What a mess he has made of you,” he muses, voice quiet, cruel. “Of course, what else could be expected when you’ve been throwing yourself at him every chance you get? You’re every bit the little slut he’s been telling me over dinner.”

You quiver at his words. Lucio catches the movement, and he laughs, his sharpened little canines glinting in the soft afternoon light.

“Oh yes, he describes all of your antics. How you look stretched around his cock. The sight of your face covered in his seed.” Lucio tilts his head, eyes raking down your body to settle once more on your hole. “That time you cockwarmed him at the council meeting.”

You can’t help it: a choked sob slips out, betraying your attempt at control and obedience, and it’s only made worse when Lucio tuts at you. Shakes his head at you. 

Still doesn’t look at you.

Instead, he turns and moves for the toilet, and as Valerius’ come and evidence of your own arousal continue to stain the once-pristine white fabric beneath you, you listen to the sound of Lucio pissing, flushing, and washing his hands.

He doesn’t even give you a second glance before he leaves.


	3. Nadia/Gender Neutral Reader

You’re still a little flushed by Lucio’s visit, insides twisted by his taunting words, when you hear a gentle knock at the door.

All it takes is a quiet noise from your throat, and the door creaks open to reveal Nadia’s vibrant eyes as she takes stock of you. With a quick nod and a roll of her lip between her teeth, she steps in and closes the door.

“Are you alright, my dear?” She asks softly.

You nod.

“You want this?”

You nod again.

With a quiet breath, she turns away to take the cloth hanging by the counter. You hear the sounds of running water, and a moment later she is approaching you with the now-damp cloth.

Pushing a few stray hairs back, she folds and places it on your forehead.

You release a soft moan at the instant relief the coolness offers. Your lids flutter, and the world is black for a moment as you close your eyes to enjoy the moment. So much of you is still flushed and itching to move, to shy away and cover yourself, but the cool cloth offers a temporary distraction.

“I must say,” she murmurs. “I quite like the sight of you like this.”

Your eyes fly open. She is much closer than she was before, and has settled into the space beside you, one ankle tucked beneath the other. Her pupils are blown out but her expression remains calm as she rakes it over you, and there is an unmistakable flush to her cheekbones that say she couldn’t take back her words, even if she wanted.

The next thing you feel is a soft hand to your cheek, stroking and soothing you. You purr quietly and turn your face into her hand, seeking more of her touch.

“Was it the consul who left you like this?” She asks.

Again, you nod.

She must see the worry behind it, the uncertain waver of your gaze, as though this will steer her away.

Truth be told, you are not sure you want her to go. You quite like the company, and the roll of her bottom lip between her teeth as she eyes the unsteady rise and fall of your chest is making your body heat anew.

You almost miss it, then; the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the flutter of her lashes and the softest, most barely-there moan you have ever heard.

When your gaze drops down to her parted thighs, you realise with a quiet whimper exactly what she is doing.

And _oh_ how you wish you could join. Just touch her for a moment, help her and please her as she devours the sight of you bare and flushed and spread open for anyone to see.

Her head tilts back any time her fingers go a little deeper, and a little whine sounds from somewhere deep in her chest when they curl just right. Her other hand is clutching her breast, squeezing and rolling it in her palm, her thumb flicking over the unmistakable peak of her nipple.

She comes, quickly and quietly, and without ever taking her eyes from you.

You tremble as she does, and notice that your nails have near embedded themselves in the flesh of your ankles from the effort of not moving your hands.

Her eyes still locked with yours, expression unmoving, she brings her wet, glistening fingertips up to her lips and wraps her tongue around them. The suckling noises she makes, the soft little sigh at the taste of herself, cause you to whimper.

And it’s a low and pathetic sound, one you’re certainly not proud of, but which does its job. She releases her fingers with a soft pop before leaning over you, her curtain of violet hair creating a curtain between the two of you and the world.

“I could do the same for you, my dearest,” she murmurs, with just the barest touch of her fingertips to your hairline. “Say the word—it need only be our little secret.”

And despite everything you have begged for, every whimper that has escaped your chest, every twitch of every muscle…

You shake your head.

If she is surprised, she doesn’t show it. Perhaps she knows it is no longer about you being afraid of your punishment or of disappointing Valerius, but about you wanting— _needing_ —to see this through to the end.

With a sharp nod, she stands and rights her clothing, not a hair or fold out of place. She takes the cloth from your forehead and returns it to the sink.

She gives you the smallest of encouraging smiles, and a cheeky little wink, before slipping out the door.


	4. Julian/Gender Neutral Reader

The moment Julian steps into the bathroom, his knees buckle.

He quickly slams the door shut behind himself and drops back against it, groaning under his breath as he eyes you over.

“I see that Lucio was not exaggerating the uh,” he pauses to swallow, lifting a shaking hand to his hair. “The—the situation.”

He laughs, and it’s high, and shaking just as badly as his hand. His bottom lip is rolling between his teeth, and his back is arching, highlighting every delicious hard angle of his lithe body as he strains against his own self-control.

“Oh, he was _so mean_ to me,” he groans. “He came back to the table to taunt me with what he had found. He sat across from me and ground his boot into my cock under the table while he smirked and murmured to me about the sight of you— _ahhhh_ — _AH!_ ”

His hand is at his crotch, palming himself through his pants as he relives those torturous moments in his mind’s eye.

There is a low keening sound from somewhere deep inside of his chest, its pitch increasing with every moment he squeezes and tortures himself to Lucio’s debauched descriptions of you.

And yes, you know it is not just the torture of the Count’s boot that has Julian so hard and flushed and wavering on his feet. He is eyeing you through hooded lids like he has never needed for anything else in his life, just the sight of you and the torture of not being allowed to _touch_.

And so you shift, flushed and a little brazen, and spread your legs just a little more, silently inviting him forward.

He blinks, his pupils becoming pinpricks. “I—o-oh, really?”

You nod.

He stumbles forward, reaching out for you as if on autopilot while he stuffs his other hand into his trousers. He lets out a high moan, eyes rolling into the back of his head at the relief of finally touching himself skin-on-skin.

And your own skin is alight, electric at the thought of touch, of pleasure, of being rewarded.

You know of anyone in the palace who could be sent here, who might stumble along this path, Julian is the easiest to crack. A lilted moan, a soft please, you would need no more—he might just be the one who lets you come.

But when he is barely an inch from touching you, his fingertips so close to the bare skin of your knee that you can feel the clammy heat of them, he stops.

He stops, fingertips shaking, and then retracts his hand with an equally shaking laugh. You can see some of his Dominant side peeking through in the curve of his lips, in the way his eyes narrow as he tilts his head at you.

“Oh ho, no no no no no,” he tuts. He points a finger at you. He shakes his head. “I know this game—look but don’t touch. You need to be a good pet, don’t you?”

Jaw tight, you nod yet again.

With another _tch_ at your attempted trickery, he drops to his knees beside you, kneecaps cracking on the hard tile. He flushes a little more at the pain, the pink spreading completely across his cheekbones and to the tips of his ears.

His hand is already back at his crotch, palming and kneading his stiff cock. His trousers are extra tight today, an absolute must for the Count’s play thing, and so you can see the perfect outline of him stretching down his left side as he squeezes his base.

“We can still play,” he tells you, though it seems more like he’s telling himself. “The Pets should be allowed to play.”

His eyes are fixated on your lips, on the swell of them from how long they have spent caught between your teeth. He lifts his free hand and presses two fingers to them.

You hesitate a moment, eyes flickering to the door, but when he gives a needy little whine you part them—you’ve heard that whine so many times from your own throat, you can’t ever deny it.

“You look so wonderful like this—suckling my fingers, cheeks flushed, hole leaking cum…” He murmurs. “Oh, how many times have I imagined myself exactly like this? Humiliated and forced to endure it? Left to the mercy of whoever my Master sent to me?”

His low keen is back, the soft noise echoing in the bathroom as he grinds into his own hand. He shoves his fingers of his other a little further into your mouth, right to the second knuckle so they can sweep around the back of your throat.

You gag and choke at the intrusion. Your eyes are stinging, but along with it comes a fresh wave of arousal, a warmth in your lower belly that has you whining and keening yourself, so close to begging Julian to help you come.

Fuck the consequences.

You need to come, _you need to come_ , another moment and you might just—

“ _P-please_!” Your plea is garbled around his fingers, now three in total. “ _Please, Julian—_ ”

He yelps at the sound of his name, and as though snapped from a trance he stops moving both hands at once.

His hips continue thrusting, trying to find something to grind on as he shakes his head in jerking movements, scolds you under his breath in a voice so quiet it’s almost non-existent.

And it’s then that you realise his game—he is tormenting himself on purpose.

He almost came, but he never had any intention of actually coming, and he had no intention of ever helping you do the same.

He laughs, shaking again, and finally pulls his fingers from your throat.

“One day,” he says, white-knuckled against the edge of the lounge as he eyes you over. “I would love to have something else of mine gagging you.”

He pushes himself to his feet, dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes go unfocused as he drags them down over your body, at the new mess he has made of you.

He licks his lips eyeing the cum stain on the lounge beneath you, the remnants of what you couldn’t hold, of what had already started drying on the fabric beneath you and along your thighs.

And then he shakes his head, his cock twitching visibly in his pants as he pulls his other hand completely away from it.

And then he murmurs, “Maybe another time.”

And then he leaves.


	5. Asra/Gender Neutral Reader/Portia

Soon enough, your legs are beginning to cramp, but you still haven’t moved.

You know all the cum has leaked from you, and it leaves you feeling strangely sad and empty knowing that no piece of Him is still there, that you are now left without another thing you love so much.

When another knock comes, this one a firm three taps, you swallow. _Hard_. Because you know who it is even before they have stepped in.

Asra’s eyes are wide for a brief second as he takes you in, a flash of something uncertain in his violet gaze before it is overtaken by a darkened lust you have seen all too many times, though perhaps never directed at you—at least, not so brazenly.

He takes his time, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded. The door is open for anyone to walk past and see in.

“I was wondering how he was going to handle your…antics.” He says it softly, lovingly, and you can’t help but give a little grin in return.

You feel bold.

“Though I suppose,” he continues, slow and sly as he drags his gaze down your body. “This answers why Jules was so hard when he came back to us—it wasn’t just Lucio’s subtle foot fucking.”

His words, the room, they’re all a little hazy.

You’re sex-fucked without the sex. All the visitors you’ve had have turned your confusion and worry into anticipation and desperation. It’s a game now, to let everyone see you but not touch you, to use you how they want but not disobey any order Valerius has given you.

Asra is your new challenge; maybe your last. He is all that stands between you and your reward, between suffering and being a _good pet_.

He steps in, closing the door behind himself with a gust of magic.

You don’t hear the lock click. You try to ignore the swoop of excitement in your lower belly.

“You look so wonderful spread out like this,” he murmurs. “Like a perfect little fuck toy. Lucio might just have your head for leaking all over his precious lounge—though I suppose if he was going to, he would have punished you when he came to visit instead of just being a tease.”

His hand is already twitching for his belt. His eyes meet yours once more.

“May I?”

You nod, breathing a little harder.

His hand slips to his cock, grabbing its silhouette through the fabric of his trousers. You watch it twitch and grow beneath his touch as he palms himself, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

His pupils are blown out as he kneels on the lounge beside you, as he begins to grind himself into your leg until he is a groaning, desperate mess.

He’s barely there for a minute before he steps back and continues to fuck his hand while watching you, grinning at you, taunting you with his gaze.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

You blink. “W-what?”

He tugs his scarf from around his neck wraps it around his fingers. He drops to his knees, to the ground this time, and lets his gaze drag longingly over you.

“Trust me.”

And you almost can’t control it.

You swallow.

You nod.

And then the world goes dark as he wraps the scarf around your eyes.

You blink behind it, trying to adjust but there is magic afoot, something a little extra that makes everything as black as a starless midnight.

You exhale, shaking, and he rests a hand on your forehead.

“You’re not supposed to touch,” you murmur, unable to hide the amused lilt from your voice.

Asra chuckles quietly, and you startle at how close he is, his hot breath right against your ear.

“What would he punish you with that you wouldn’t enjoy?”

And you can’t hide your own smirk, because he’s right. He is so very right.

The door suddenly creaks, and instead of jumping, you turn your head, a curious little whine coming from somewhere deep in your chest.

Asra laughs, nuzzling his nose into your cheek. You can tell by his breathing that he has started touching himself again.

“I told you there would be something glorious for you in here,” he calls out.

Then: a soft gasp.

Footsteps.

Someone drops to your other side, and you’re hit with the scent of fresh linen and vanilla.

It’s Portia.

“Ooh, you were _right_ ,” she sighs longingly. “Though maybe you sold the surprise a little short.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Asra’s teeth catch on your ear, and you whimper. “It’s far more becoming than my imagination could have ever described it.”

Portia laughs on your other side. You can feel her folded arms nestled beside your head, the warmth of her breasts, her soft breaths in your ear.

“Asra has been _such_ a nuisance having to wait his turn,” Portia sighs. “Fidgeting and sighing and pouting and throwing Lucio all sorts of looks for going first.”

“I don’t _pout_.”

“No comment on the looks, I see.”

“I throw him those looks all the time. That’s actually my Wednesday face.”

Asra groans in your ear. If you still your breath, hard as it is, you can hear the quiet keens in each exhale. He’s teasing himself still, but you know he is not like Julian – he has no intention of not finishing

A rustle of fabric on your other side. A soft sigh.

“Such a shame we can’t help you, my little kitten,” Portia teases. “I imagine you _would_ be getting very frustrated by this point.”

She whimpers, and you can hear her fingers as she spreads herself apart, already so wet. Your fingers flex, creeping a little toward her.

She laughs adoringly.

“So, _so_ frustrated,” Asra agrees. “Look at those cheeks.”

“And the way your chest is heaving.”

“And all of that dried cum on your thighs. Such a shame we can’t help.”

“ _Suuuch a shame_.”

You can’t help it—a frustrated growl barrels out of you, the sound echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom. Your nails dig into the lounge, and you’re sure you can hear the fabric ripping.

But your near tantrum earns you nothing but amused laughs. Asra’s is a deep purr. Portia’s, a loud tinkle.

“Oh kitten, are you _pouting_?” Portia asks. Like Asra before her, she takes your ear between her teeth and nibbles playfully.

“I think kitten _is,_ ” Asra tuts.

“So impatient!”

You whine again.

Asra groans. “Oh, keep making those _noises_ —”

He lets out a low keen, and you know even without your sight that he is coming all over his hand, messy and uncaring and unashamed, a perfect match to the state of you.

And then you hear more fabric rustling, soft suckling noises, delighted moans; someone is sucking someone’s fingers.

Portia is whining.

The lounge beneath you is shifting as someone bumps into it, grinding themselves against the hard oak frame.

Portia presses her forehead to your shoulder, sinks her teeth into it, and you can tell she has followed Asra over the edge by the shake of her, by the gasps, by the whispered curses.

Silence falls about the three of you, broken only by soft grunts from the aftershocks of Portia’s orgasm, and Asra’s content sighs as he enjoys the sights before him.

“Best be getting back, I think,” Portia says, seemingly all too soon. “Dessert will be done, and my lady will want to have her walk in the gardens.”

“Mmm, and of course the shop needs dusting.”

You hear them shuffling. Standing. Fabric.

You swallow.

“Don’t go,” you murmur. You blindly reach both hands out, and you’re rewarded by the brush of each of their fingers against yours.

“Don’t fret, kitten,” Asra tells you. “You’re nearly there. I promise.”

You nod, then tuck your hands back into your body.

Then you feel them close by you again.

Each of them leans in, pressing their lips to a cheek. Their kisses are soft, warm, lingering.

You feel each of them smile against you before they slip away, and a few moments later, the click of the door signals their goodbye.


End file.
